Anthem of the Angels
by TerraChasma
Summary: Time seems to slow down around him. He can't move, think, breathe; the world itself has been turned upside down and inside out. It's all wrong, so wrong that he doesn't know where to start, and all he can hear is her voice, so precious, so vulnerable, each word barely whispered, playing on repeat through his head. "Evan...I'm never going to walk again,"
1. The Final Fall

**Anthem of the Angels**

* * *

**Chapter One: The Final Fall**

* * *

_He presses pause. The world around him breaks down in an instant, a sticky mess of still image and the faint buzz of white noise in the background. Rewind. Replay. What does it matter? He's watching from the shadows, a silent onlooker enveloped deep within the darkness. It's a story, he thinks, of the sort that leaves little children screaming in their sleep and adults waking at midnight with a cold sweat stealing over their body. _

_His story isn't told in words. The action unfolds in a series of bitter screams and broken hearts, a never-ending circle lit by a pool of limelight. He watches until he can't watch anymore. It leaves his entire body aching for a relief which isn't going to come. Slowly but surely, it's taking him over, sending roots deep down to his darkest corners and spreading through his veins. _

_Finally he can't take it any longer. Pause. Pause. Something's wrong; it's not working. Pause! No. There's no escape this time. He's slipping out of control and the reins are starting to loosen. He's trapped inside the never-ending circle, and his face is lit up by the flashes of limelight. No pause. No end. It's relentless, and he's terrified._

_Replay it in his mind's eye, over and over again. Replay until her cries echo through his head like razor-sharp knives, his name dancing on her lips in a frenzy of fear. Replay the sickening crack of bone as she hits the floor, because even an angel can't fly forever. Replay the sound of his heart, snapping into a thousand shards of glass; a swirling, sparkling blur, six years worth of emotion and loss and things that should never have happened, forced together in a red-hot blaze of screaming pain. His own personal anomaly, and it's killing him._

_So he fights to break free, but the chains are too tight. He can no longer breathe, can't talk, can't move. The circle's drawn in power-white chalk by dust-speck pixies with dead, hollow eyes, and they've bound him to spend an eternity here. Only his enchantress can save him now, the green-eyed ghost who haunts his days, his dreams, his whole life with her beauty; the love in her eyes is the only antidote to the lamentations which confine him here._

_"Evan," she calls out to him, made desperate by her fear. She's helpless, rendered vulnerable by the fragments of a single second. Somewhere within him, the first embers of a fire begin to stir. Stop. Calm. Focus. Breathe, in then out, in and out. Slow._

_Stop. Calm. Focus._

_The chains around him are loosening, shrivelling away into midnight ashes._

_Stop. He can breathe again. He can move. With his rifle held aloft, the embers become candle-flames, tiny but steady and unwavering in their light._

_Calm. Poised on the edge of a gaping abyss, he stands tall like a warrior, a cobra preparing to strike, and allows the fire to bathe him in its velvet warmth._

_Focus. It's time to go._

_Fast-forward again, and everything around him is thrown back into motion._

* * *

"Dylan!" he called uselessly, hearing his frantic cry ring out through the crisp evening air before he'd even realised he'd spoken. Although he knew it was pointless, he let his fingers brush longingly over the trigger of the rifle; the gun was empty and he carried no spare darts, but the feeling of the weapon in his hands was real and solid, enough to give him a small degree of comfort. It was an instinctive response to danger too, helping to quell some of the adrenaline raging through his body. He couldn't risk acting on impulse now. Not when there was so much he stood to lose.

A second killer could be waiting just moments away, and he wouldn't know it was there until it was too late. His memories of the last few minutes were spotty at best, like the fragile husks of a nightmare, but they were more than enough to send cold chills racing down his spine. Running, for a start. They had been running from something, and that in itself was a worry if his experience with the anomalies had taught him anything. Still, it was the memories he held of the predator itself that were clearest. It was a dinosaur, most likely a theropod, sleek and lithe with skin covered in mottled scales, greens and browns and gold. The perfect camouflage for a forest hunter.

They had tried weaving in and out of the trees, hoping that the damn thing would be put off by their zig-zag path or at least slowed down a little, going by Evan's reasoning that they would have a clearer shot at it if it wasn't moving so fast. Unfortunately, not only had his plan not worked, but if anything the creature had actually seemed to _revel _in the chase, neck snaking out towards them as a devilish glint appeared in its eyes. The bastard had actually been _enjoying itself_, whilst Dylan and Evan were fighting for their lives.

He could just about recall the sound of a rifle being fired and a reptilian yelp as the tranquilizer pierced its skin, a shot that came just seconds too late. The creature stumbled forwards in shock, smashing straight into Dylan with enough force to send her flying. Then there had been nothing but silence. Reacting purely on instinct, Evan had lifted his gun and sent dart after dart barreling towards the creature, a deadly rain of drugs being pumped into its bloodstream. He just hoped it would be enough to kill it, fuelled as he was by a searing desire for revenge which the geek in him liked to call his 'dark side'.

If Dylan started ranting at him for killing the dinosaur, well, he'd just plead innocence and blame the dark side. Whether or not she'd go along with it was another matter entirely.

Dylan. Oh, God.

"Over here!"

It was her. Every other thought in his mind was instantly discarded, left for dead, including the recurring ache in his muscles as he sprinted over to where she lay on the ground. His rifle fell to the floor as he knelt beside her, a slight grimace crossing his face at the horrible damp feel of the leaf litter which was now happily soaking into his trousers.

"Dylan? Oh, shit, are you alright?" he asked, noticing how pale she looked and the tears sparkling in the corners of her eyes. Although she was trying to control it, her breathing was fast and erratic; there was definitely something wrong with her. Dylan was tough. He knew that from experience, and he also knew that any injuries she had would have to be pretty bad to leave her in this state.

His worst fears were confirmed when she shook her head. "My back hurts," she closed her eyes briefly, biting down hard on her lower lip. "A lot,"

A knot began to form in his stomach. He forced himself to focus on the situation at hand, forget the panic that was starting to get the better of him. "Okay. Are you hurt anywhere else? Cuts, bruises, anything like that?"

"Nothing serious, I don't think," she replied hesitantly, giving Evan a small, surprisingly soothing wave of relief. At least that meant there was no danger of blood loss or infection. It was only a tiny shred of hope, but he clung to it with all the strength he could muster.

* * *

_Once Drake had told him that, no matter how dark life could seem to be, there was always a bright side to look for. In fact, he'd said that just weeks before he died, torn apart by the Utahraptor, and however hard he looked Evan couldn't see any bright side at all. When it finally arrived, it was in the form of a pretty Predator Control expert with a dedication to her job that almost put Evan's to shame._

_Drake had always enjoyed matchmaking. He called it his hobby, his one escape from the horrors he saw on a daily basis in his job, and then proceeded to spend most of the spare time he had trying to set Evan up with all the suitable women he knew. And some of the men. Evan hadn't been sure whether to be grateful for the 'help' or offended that his best friend appeared to think he was gay, despite the fact that he had been married to Brooke for four years and she was most definitely a woman._

_Then Drake had died and Dylan had taken his place. Maybe the universe was trying to tell him something._

_No. Don't go there, Evan._

* * *

"Talk to me, Evan. I need to distract myself," Dylan broke into his thoughts, momentarily startling him into realizing he'd spent the past minute staring into space, lost in his memories of Drake. Clearing all thoughts of anomalies and death in general from his mind, he nodded.

"Okay. Umm, what kind of dinosaur is that?" flustered, he voiced the first question that came into his head, jerking his chin towards the creature slumped over the floor, so terrifyingly close to them. Still, it was very, very dead, he couldn't help noting with pride.

A slight smile spread across her lips as she followed his gaze. "It's definitely some sort of Allosaurid, maybe a Dwarf Allosaur. It lived in Australia during the Early Cretaceous, although back then it would have been more like Antarctica there. Australia was closer to the poles than the equator; it would have been frozen for most of the year,"

Evan shook his head, amused despite the circumstance. "Trust you,"

_My little dinosaur encyclopaedia._

"I am _not _an encyclopaedia!" she protested instantly, and he chuckled outright. Apparently he'd spoken out loud without actually meaning to. Oops. At least it made her laugh, not to mention helping her to forget about some of the pain in her back.

"I meant it in a good way, I swear!"

"It's actually pretty interesting! Scientists have only identified a single ankle bone - some aren't sure if it ever even existed. I guess we just proved them wrong, though,"

"See what I mean? You're an encyclopaedia of this stuff!" one corner of his mouth quirked up, but the sudden rush of warmth faded as quickly as it had arrived when Evan caught a sudden glimpse of movement in the trees to his left. His whole body tense, he got to his feet, gaze piercing into every bush and through each mocking shadow. Nothing. From what he could tell it was a false alarm, but it was enough to remind him there was still danger here.

"We need to get moving. Can you walk?"

"I don't know," she paused, fear beginning to grow in her eyes as she looked back up at him, a fear that was fast taking root in him, too, when she didn't say anything after a few torturous seconds.

His heart plunged to the floor, instantly fearing the worst. "Dylan? What's wrong?"

A single tear fell down her cheek. Evan moved to wipe it away gently with his thumb. "Dylan? C'mon, say something. You're scaring me!"

"I can't move my legs. I can't feel anything!"

_Oh, shit._

"Evan?"

He'd done it again, talking out loud, telling the world his thoughts without noticing. "Sorry. I'm just..."

Then he looked down at her face, saw all the fear and hurt and slowly gathering trepidation that blazed there, and felt his gut wrench. She was making no attempt to hide it, either. If he was scared right now, Dylan would be feeling ten times worse and in desperate need of reassurance. His turn had come to be the strong one. "It'll be alright. I promise,"

_Think, damn it!_

"Okay, I can't exactly call in an ambulance with a half-tonne dinosaur sprawled twenty feet away from us. I'll have to try Project Magnet,"

Dylan flinched visibly. Ken Leeds wasn't exactly his favourite person right now, but seeing the results of his 'experiments' had affected her badly, and the hatred she felt for him ran much deeper than Evan's. "We don't have a choice, Dyl. There's no way I'm leaving you here,"

"No, it's okay. Do what you have to do," she smiled weakly, but he could tell she was still upset about it and it hurt him, seeing her this way. Before he could stop to reconsider and let the nerves take hold of him, he brushed a few tousled strands of hair away from her face and leaned in to kiss her forehead gently, murmuring "I'm sorry," as he pulled away reluctantly.

Not really sure what had brought on the sudden display of emotion, he walked a little way towards a small clearing in the trees, painfully aware of her eyes following him. He hoped fervently that he'd done the right thing, and not just completely mucked up everything they'd had between them.

Hard as it was, he forced himself to concentrate on the task at hand, unlocking his cell phone and bringing up a list of contacts. Dialling Ange's number was more instinct than anything else, and so he pressed 'call' without really thinking about it. His original plan had been to phone Leeds instead, not quite ready to deal with the emotional fallout of talking to Ange again, but now that Ange was working with Project Magnet he just prayed that she'd be willing to help them out.

"Evan? I hope this is you calling to tell me you've finally seen sense and you're going to co-operate this time, because otherwise you can forget it," her voice was colder than he'd ever heard it before, harsh and unwelcoming. Taking a deep breath, he gripped the phone harder and tried his best to forget about the argument, Project Magnet, everything that had conspired to give him the worst headache known to humanity.

Everything except Dylan.

"No, I...I really need your help. There's been an accident, and I can't really call in an ambulance to deal with it. Please, Ange, if you have any decency left at all, then...just please help me. I can't deal with this on my own,"

"Are you hurt? What's the problem?" the obvious concern made a refreshing change from the hardness of her first greeting, and it was exactly what he needed right now. Reassurance that there was still someone out there who cared, someone who could take control of the situation and pull him back together,"

He fought the tears beginning to cluster in the corner of his eyes and returned his mind to the conversation. "No, it's not me. It's Dylan,"

"How bad?"

"She says her back hurts, and she's lost all the feeling in her legs," as he spoke, he could almost feel the blood racing around his body, heart hammering at his chest like it was trying to crush his ribs to dust. Every second that passed made it harder for him to remain composed, professional, like he knew he had to be. This was _Dylan_, for God's sake, not some faceless stranger who'd just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was his fault that she was even here in the first place.

Some vague part of his mind was telling him that he should probably just be grateful she was still alive. A fall like that could have killed her. As it was, he was certain that her injuries were much worse than she was letting on. If her spine was actually broken...well, he didn't even want to consider the possibilities.

"Evan?"

"Huh?" apparently, he'd been so caught up in his own maudlin thoughts he hadn't been paying attention to Ange. Still, it wasn't like it was the first time that had happened.

"I _said_, I can help you," Ange sighed, and he could tell that she was hesitant about what she was going to say next. "I can help you, if you want, but I need you to help me,"

Great. An ultimatum. If he was going to help Dylan, he'd be forced to help Project Magnet. If, on the other hand, he refused, then Dylan...

_...No. Don't think like that. She'll be alright._

"Come on, Ange. You know I don't like blackmail," he resorted to pleading, wildly out of his depths and faced with an impossible choice, a decision he couldn't make.

The safety of the space-time continuum, or Dylan.

"Evan, listen to me. Dylan's been hurt, pretty badly from what you've said. She needs you now. I can promise you that there will be no going through the anomalies, no kidnapping dinosaurs, nothing unorthodox. You can stay with Dylan, and we'll neutralise the threat. No funny business. I promise,"

He took a deep breath, the word 'no' building in his throat. Every instinct he possessed was screaming out at him to let it fall.

Well, almost every instinct.

* * *

_Dylan, her hand shaking, face tormented as she prepared herself to fire the shot that would end Leggy's life. _

_Kneeling beside the dead soldier, mourning for a man she never knew._

_The lone tear, sparkling on her cheek as she realised she couldn't move; the rawness of the fear and desperation in her eyes. His own heart, constricting in his chest, forced to accept that there was nothing he could do to make this right. _

_He was going against all his morals as a scientist, everything he'd ever believed in before, but he knew had to trust Project Magnet, if not for himself then for Dylan. It was a battle of heart versus head. His head told him to say no. His heart said yes._

_The safety of the space-time continuum...or the woman he knew he loved?_

_The impossible question; not so impossible after all._

* * *

"Fine," he growled, glaring at the phone in his hand, "But you'd better mean it,"

"The ETA is ten minutes. We're downloading your co-ordinates now," Ange replied briskly, before hanging up on him without warning. He now had nothing but the silence to keep him company, although it was preferable to her new-found sharpness, a hard-hearted, eagle-eyed persona that he'd seen in action too many times to count, whilst never directed at him.

"What did she say?" he heard Dylan call weakly from where she lay, just metres away from him. In that instant, he physically felt his mind begin to clear.

Screw Ange. Screw Project Magnet. Screw everything but him and Dylan and possibly the Polar Allosaur, the heartless killer who Evan would, at that moment in time, quite happily disembowel and drape around the treetops for Leeds' soldiers to find when they got there - a moment of perfectly justified (in his mind, at least) revenge.

Dylan was all that really mattered now. The consequences of what he'd just done would have to wait until later.

* * *

**So, this is the first part of a multi-chapter story I've been working on for a while now, and I'm very excited to share it with you guys! Updates should be *fairly* regular - theoretically, anyway - but July's going to be a pretty hectic month for me, so no guarantees on that front. The title for this comes from the song Anthem of the Angels by Breaking Benjamin.**

_**"There is nothing left of you  
I can see it in your eyes  
Sing the anthem of the angels  
And say the last goodbye  
I keep holding onto you  
But I can't bring you back to life  
Sing the anthem of the angels  
Then say the last goodbye,"**_

**As a side note, to everyone who's read and reviewed my first story, Harbinger of Fools, well, first of all thank you so much! Your support is really appreciated! But I also think I owe you an apology; I've hit a real mental block with the second chapter. I haven't forgotten about it, and I swear I will update eventually! **


	2. Killing Me Softly

**Anthem of the Angels**

* * *

**Chapter Two: Killing Me Softly**

* * *

Just as Ange had predicted, ten excruciating minutes crawled past before the ambulance finally arrived, bringing with it a squeal of tires that Evan hadn't realised actually existed outside of bad spy thrillers and most annoying chick-flick scenarios. Brooke had always loved those movies - well, the chick-flicks, anyway - but he personally had never been able to see the point of them. They were all so _similar_; the women got dumped, got drunk and cried on each other's shoulders into the early hours, whilst the men got depressed, got drunk and realised they couldn't live without aforementioned brainless women.

Then there was the way _everybody _seemed to own posh cars that cost more than a small house, whilst their houses probably cost more than a small _planet_. It was ridiculous, really. No plot, at least as far as he could tell, and no realism to speak of either. In fact, Brooke's love of chick-flicks combined with his bitter hatred of them had been the basis for more than one argument over the four years that they were married.

This could only be a bad omen, Evan decided.

Dylan, on the other hand, was more of a closeted geek when it came to movie choices, and generally preferred science fiction to cheesy romances.

_No. Stop._

He'd found himself doing this more and more as of late, comparing Dylan to his wife. It had become something of a habit, really, and he wasn't sure when it had started. All he knew was it had to stop. He'd told Brooke he would love her, and only her, forever, and he was veering dangerously close to breaking that promise.

Sighing out loud, he realised he was arguing with himself again. This had to stop, all of it. Slowly but surely, he was losing his mind. He needed to focus. Right, okay. He brought his mind back into the present with some effort, attempting to distract himself, but somehow, whatever he thought, it always seemed to come back to Dylan

His worst fears about Project Magnet were confirmed just seconds later when Ange stepped carefully out of the van, along with a tall, gangly lad who looked to be about eighteen and was presumably one of the medics. He didn't pay the boy - and really, he wasn't much more than that - any more attention than was necessary; everything was now centred around the brunette woman in front of him.

She hadn't mentioned on the phone that she'd be here as well, and after the circumstances of their last meeting he'd kind of hoped she'd steer clear. Still, when had he ever been that lucky? He acknowledged her with a brief nod and a calm face, trying not to let his inner turbulence show through. "Ange. I wasn't expecting to see you here,"

For a split-second, something flickered through her eyes, something unreadable, but just as quickly as the emotion had appeared, it was gone again. Her voice trembled but she held her head high with a steely determination that unnerved him, holding on to her dignity with an iron fist.

He had to look away. Anything would be better than this, the coldness of her voice, the disdain written across her face. She stood a million miles away from him, away from the person she used to be, and it was becoming to hard to bear it. Looking around, however, he saw nothing to distract him but grey skies and withered plants, a dull haze of boredom.

His gaze fell on the medic, taking in his scruffily handsome charm, the wild tufts of ginger hair, the small snub nose and hundreds of freckles dotting his cheeks. The white lab coat he wore at least gave him some semblance of maturity, but even that effect was spoiled by the array of surfer-style necklaces he wore, almost covering his Project Magnet ID badge. It was far from comforting.

Even less comforting was the way his hand lingered on Dylan's shoulder as he checked her over, thumb moving gently back and forth across her neck. He forced himself to stifle the growl slowly building in his throat.

"Try to breathe, love. Focus on something other than the pain,"

The term of endearment was used casually, almost carelessly, but the man still didn't move his hand, and Evan couldn't help but notice the air of arrogance in his husky British accent - he seemed like a guy who was used to having women falling at his feet. The knot of tension in his stomach began to grow, and Evan found himself lashing out. "Don't touch her like that!"

It wasn't that he was jealous, he told himself. He was just looking out for the safety of one of his employees, and more than that, the closest friend he had, which was perfectly reasonable. He would do the same for Mac or Toby if he thought it was necessary. This man, whatever his name was, was clearly used to casual flirting, and he didn't want Dylan to have her heart broken. There was nothing wrong with that, even if might seem like a slight over-reaction to any onlookers.

The medic stood up and turned to look at him, a lopsided, childlike grin appearing on his face. "Steady on, mate! Just trying to be friendly!"

"Well, don't," Evan replied shortly. If he was honest with himself, he was more than a little ashamed of his sudden outburst, but the protective instinct inside him was now wide awake and bristling for a fight, not ready to let him back down from his challenger just yet.

Wait, no. That made him sound like he had - or at least wanted - some sort of claim over Dylan. Perhaps it would be a good idea to rephrase that; he just _really didn't like the fucking medic and needed a way of venting his anger. A way that preferably involved one good, hard punch, a lot of blood and possibly a broken nose. Not Evan's, obviously._

Yup, that worked a whole lot better.

"Okay, okay! Point taken!" one eyebrow raised, and fortunately totally unaware of Evan's current line of thought, the medic stood up and offered him one limp, pale hand. "Ratchet Holden, chief medic of Project Magnet,"

Evan raked him over with appraising eyes. "Bit young, aren't you?"

Ratchet's palm was clammy with sweat, and Evan showed no reserve in wiping his own off against his jeans after letting go, gratified by the fiery blush tingeing the other man's ears and neck.

"I'm twenty-nine. Well, nearly,"

In response, he nodded thoughtfully. "Evan Cross. You probably already know who I am,"

"_Hell _yeah!" instantly, Ratchet's face became more animated. "Boss never shuts up about you! Man, he _really _doesn't like you. I reckon he'd kill you if he could!"

"I'm sure the feeling's mutual," Evan offered dryly in return, twisting his face into a grimace to hide the fact that his thoughts were beginning to drift elsewhere. Ratchet's next sentence, however, brought him back down to earth with all the force of a friendly neighbourhood hurricane.

"So, are you...you know," he trailed off in embarrassment, throwing a quick glance over his shoulder. "You know. Her boyfriend? Because you seemed a little defensive back there,"

"No,"

"Ah. I see," Ratchet nodded knowingly, as if that gruff, one-word sentence had told him everything he needed to know and more besides. Evan did have some idea of what must be going through his head right now, but didn't bother to deny it, or even acknowledge it - he knew from personal experience that it would only make things worse.

He drew breath like he was about to continue talking, but before he could speak they were interrupted by a shout from the ambulance as three men tried and failed to lift a stretcher out from the back of it. His attention turned to what Evan presumed must be his team, or maybe a part of it. "I'll be over in a minute!"

"Taking their time, aren't they?" Evan commented, glancing over at the small cluster. Ratchet shrugged, not at all perturbed by the observation.

"There's a lot of preliminary stuff that needs to be sorted out. You know, paperwork, light painkillers, that sort of thing. Unless there's an immediate risk, like an open wound with heavy bleeding, we can't really just load 'em up and go. It doesn't help that you're refusing to assist Project Magnet, either. Hall was reluctant to even send a team out in the first place,"

The twinges of panic that, up until now, he'd been suppressing fairly well returned in full force, gnawing angrily at the walls of his gut. "So, does that mean she'll be okay?"

"Hard to tell at this stage," Ratchet replied easily, and instantly any hopes Evan had been harbouring turned tail and fled. "Hopefully nothing life-threatening, if that's what you mean. Her back's banged up a bit, but I can't really see what the full extent of the damage is yet,"

Ratchet kept on prattling away, but Evan only heard one thing.

_Hopefully nothing life-threatening._

_Hopefully._

_No, no, no. This couldn't be happening to him. Not again._

"What do you mean, hopefully?" he asked, his voice low and trembling with the effort of emotion. It was completely at odds with his demeanour, however; his whole body tense as he physically restrained himself from hurting the medic.

"Like I said, hard to tell at this stage,"

Evan's eyes narrowed, and his right arm twitched. Ratchet backed away. "Easy, mate. She'll probably be fine. The likelihood is it's just a bad muscle strain. I'm just saying, with injuries to the spinal cord you can never be too careful, but in most cases the victims are either killed outright, or they survive. There shouldn't be a problem,"

_Breathe, Evan._

"So there's still a-" his voice cracked, but he forced himself to continue, regardless of the agony convulsing in his words. "A risk of..."

He couldn't do it, couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence. Ratchet regarded him carefully, caution in his eyes, as though he wasn't quite sure what to say. In the end, he gave a slight shrug and a small smile. "Isn't there always?"

When he didn't reply, the medic sighed, tongue flicking nervously over his lower lip. "Look, Evan, I can't promise anything, but the likelihood is she'll make a full recovery, so please, stop worrying. It's really not helping you, and it's not helping Dylan either. I know how hard it can be. Believe me, I've been there before, and I mean it when I tell you that you need to calm down and try to relax,"

"Okay," he nodded, but the knot of tension in his shoulders didn't move. "Okay, fair enough. I'll try,"

A satisfied look began to spread across Ratchet's face, and instantly Evan gave him a warning look. "Just remember, I'm not doing any of this for you,"

Effectively breaking off their conversation, another shout drifted over from the ambulance, tempered with a growing impatience. From what he could tell, the team of medics had managed to get the stretcher caught up on a metal pole poking out through the door, and were now totally unable to disentangle it. Ratchet gave another sigh. "I'm coming, alright? Just hold on,"

He turned back to Evan. "Bloody incompetent imbeciles. I'd better go and get them sorted out. You don't look so good, though, mate; maybe you should go home. I can get Leeds to call you when-"

"I'm staying here, with Dylan," he cut off the other man before he could even finish his sentence, daring the other man to rise to the challenge. He didn't. With a small, ever so slightly amused smirk twitching at his lips, he turned and jogged away towards the ambulance, feet crunching loudly against the dry, brittle twigs littering the floor.

Evan, meanwhile, was more focused on trying not to throw up, even as he muttered "And don't call me mate, either," to somewhere in the general vicinity of his feet.

* * *

_Hopefully, he'd said. Hope had never been something he was very good at._

_Hopefully, damn it, but he'd forgotten how to hope._

_Ratchet's face, so relaxed, so bitterly carefree. Careless, even, as all the while Evan's world collapsed to dust and rubble and smoke. Careless, because he didn't care at all._

_There was no hopefully about it. He had no hope, but he did have his resolve. She was going to survive this; they both would._

_He would make sure of it._

* * *

Dylan gave a small whimper as the medics manhandled her onto the stretcher, her eyes squeezing shut in a futile attempt to block out the pain. Evan's gut seemed to physically clench at the sound. His heart was lurching in his chest, bile rising in his throat, and he could feel his knees threatening to buckle underneath him. The sky was beginning to melt into spirals of blue, dipping and dancing around him, the world tilting on its axis, and his head was spinning along with it.

Then suddenly he was sitting on the damp floor, retching, his body racked with violent bursts of coughing. A hand on his shoulder startled him, helping him to his feet as the coughing began to subside. He allowed Ratchet to hold him steady, trying to catch his breath as the medic's voice calmed him down. "Take it easy there, mate, you're alright, it's okay,"

"Sorry," was all he could manage to gasp out as he fought against the burning in his lungs. He could already feel the first niggling sensations of a headache threatening the inside of his skull; as his stress levels rose, the faint drumming would become more like red-hot hammers doing a war-dance across his brain, excruciatingly painful to the point where he couldn't concentrate on anything. He had to calm down if he wanted to be any use.

Ratchet smiled and patted his shoulder. "I think you might be in shock, Evan. I still say you should get some rest, but I'm not going to stop you from staying with Dylan if you promise me you won't collapse again,"

"I'll be fine,"

The younger man's face creased with barely suppressed laughter. "Funny, I almost believed you there for a second,"

"Ha, ha. You're hilarious," Evan deadpanned in return. Ratchet's laughter bubbled over, an infectious, happy sound that made him remember his first impressions of the medic. A young, scatter-brained student, with no real idea of what he was doing.

How very wrong he'd been.

"Come on then, I'll take you to the ambulance,"

With Ratchet's arm supporting him, he was able to half-walk, half-stumble his way across the ground, the forest taking on a dream-like quality as the floor rolled beneath his feet. He felt himself being led up the ramp and into the darkness, sinking to his knees when the medic finally let go.

He didn't say anything before he left, but the look in Ratchet's eyes as he nodded a goodbye was more than enough.

The doors slammed shut, and for a moment they were totally immersed in shadow, before a feeble, watery light flickered on overhead. It was barely enough to see by, but it meant he could now see the pain on Dylan's face, pain she was doing her level best to hide, and under those circumstances he'd almost have preferred the darkness. Still, it was almost enough to make him smile; she was as determined as ever not to let her suffering show through. It was one of the many things he lov...admired about her.

"How are you doing?" he asked, after a few moments of silence.

"Fine. I..." for a moment, she paused, then shook her head. "I'm fine,"

"You know you can be honest with me, right?" the words slipped out before he'd registered them properly, hanging there like an echo in the stillness of the silence.

"I know that,"

He reached out to cradle one of her small hands in both of his. The skin was surprisingly cool to touch, but soft and smooth under his fingers. "So why don't you give it a try, huh?"

"I'm scared," she whispered hoarsely, in a small, nervous voice that sounded nothing like her usual self and made him want to shiver. He was used to her confidence, her raw courage, the very things that made her who she was. She had always been the fighter, the strong one, and so her fear frightened him.

"So am I," he admitted, but the words sickened him. What right did he have to be afraid now? He needed to hold it together, and he couldn't. Yes, Dylan was the fighter, but he had always seen himself as a strong person too. With everything he'd gone through, he'd had to be, and now that he needed his strength more than ever it was gone. "I can't do this without you. You've got to be alright, yeah? I anything happened, I...I don't know. I don't know what I'd do. I don't know anything. I'm scared too,"

He swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the lump building in his throat. It wasn't working. The tears were swelling until he couldn't talk, couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything but sit there clutching her hand and willing them away.

* * *

_Please, God. Don't hurt her anymore. If you're out there, if you even exist, for both of our sakes, then just...stop. Don't do this. To either of us._

_Please. Please listen, please just __do something. I can't handle this much longer._

_Please._

* * *

The siren's wail split the air suddenly as the ambulance flew over a rut in the road, startling them both and knocking him slightly off-balance. Evan blinked the tears from his eyes and steeled himself. "I'm sorry. I'm not helping,"

"It's fine, Evan. _I'll _be fine. I promise,"

He couldn't help but notice the lack of conviction in her voice, like she was trying to convince herself more than anything else. She was just as unsure and afraid as he was, but even so, he tried to let her fake optimism wash over him, telling himself it was a promise that, come the worse, she could keep.

The alternative wasn't even worth considering. Dylan Weir was far too stubborn for her own good, inordinately sentimental and quite possibly insane, but she was also an amazing, incredible, beautiful woman who had somehow managed to worm her way into both his heart and his soul, and something told him she was there to stay.

They'd come this far together already. No matter what happened from here on in, he wasn't letting her go without a fight.


	3. Bittersweet Freedom

**Anthem of the Angels**

* * *

**Chapter Three: Bittersweet Freedom**

* * *

A sea of silent darkness surrounded him, threatening to drown him in emotion, leaving him asphyxiated by time itself. Fruitlessly, he tried to move, held in place by a fear he recognised and yet couldn't put a name to. All he could do was fight, refuse to let it overwhelm him, his entire self poured into a battle of wills which he couldn't win; all the mental strength in the world couldn't have prepared him for this.

And then, in a sudden rush of bittersweet freedom, it was gone.

Fraught voices came spinning through the medical bay, richocheting off the walls, as frantic men and women shouted desperate instructions at each other. Each cry sounded like a bird of prey, pitched at a volume that Evan's aching head interpreted as a series of small explosions. Everyone around him seemed to move at superhuman speeds, trapped in their own little bubbles of light from which his fear and pain was totally invisible. More than anything else, he wanted to be trapped in his own bubble, immune to everything going on around him.

The loneliness chewed on his heart. Even in the midst of so many people, he was alone, his soul resting a million miles from his body. It was enough to break a man, this crush of emptiness that wrapped itself around him. He was balanced right on the verge between crazy and insane, the bright line that Kanan had talked about, but a touch more pressure was all it would take from him to...crack.

"Hey, Evan," Ratchet appeared from seemingly nowhere, the usual cheery smile superglued firmly into place. The relief that the simple smile gave him, coupled with the genuine warmth in his expression, gave him a relief that neither of them would ever know, a reassurance that, in Evan's eyes, was priceless. All he could offer in return was a weak twitch of the lips, facial muscles twitching with the effort of holding it there. It seemed woefully inadequate, somehow, especially in the face of all the medic had done for him.

"Hey," he said quietly in return, unable to think of anything more interesting. Ever since the accident, his mind had been blanked out; he had been rendered utterly incapable of anything resembling conversation.

"It's okay, you know. To feel like this," the other man's eyes searched his face, and this time there was a depth in them that he'd never seen there before. How had he missed that? "It feels like you're the only one who knows what it's like to go through this, but you're not. If you ever need to talk, Evan..."

"I'll go find a therapist," was the first curt reply that came into his head. "Look, Ratchet, I appreciate it. But please, don't try and understand how I'm feeling right now. You don't know what's going on inside my head, and you're not going to. It's not helping me, not you, not anyone. And it's not helping Dylan, either, so maybe instead of focusing on me, you should be looking after her and doing your job,"

"My _job_? Evan, listen to me. You're not the only one who knows what it's like to suffer! Ten days ago, my wife was taking our daughter to school. Now she's dead, and my little Caitlin's barely alive in a hospital ten miles from here! So don't try to pretend I don't know how you feel right now, because I do!" Ratchet spat, his face contorting in barely-suppressed anger. "I heard about Brooke. I can't imagine what it would be like to go through this twice, but...you're not alone, okay? I just want to help you,"

Evan bit his lip, wrong-footed by all his original misconceptions that Ratchet had just thrown straight back in his face. "I-I'm sorry. Really. I didn't know,"

"It's fine," angrily, he swiped at his eyes, taking a deep, trembling breath before he reached into his pocket. "This is...it's a photo of them. It was taken two days before the accident,"

With a watery smile, he handed over a small, slightly faded photograph. A small girl grinned back at him widely, her green eyes sparkling behind her thick-rimmed glasses, brown hair brushed back and flowing in thick waves down her back. Wearing a look of motherly pride on her face, a woman knelt beside her with one arm flung across the girl's shoulder. "You must miss her,"

The medic's voice cracked. "More so every day,"

He handed the square of paper back, suddenly awkward in the ensuing silence. "How do you do it? How can you come into work each day, constantly smiling, telling people that it's going to be alright, when...you know,"

"Caitlin once told me that if everybody made a point of laughing once an hour, the world would be a far happier place. I do it all for her," Ratchet stopped and rubbed his temples, trying to mask the anguish that was flashing in his eyes. "You know what rankles? The reason I became a doctor in the first place was because I wanted to make a difference, save lives, and yet I wasn't there when Magda died. I couldn't hold her in my arms, say goodbye; I couldn't do anything,"

The irony of that wasn't lost on Evan. He had been through the exact same agony ever day for the past six years. "I know how that feels,"

"Yeah..." Ratchet let his voice tail off, and then in the blink of an eye, as though someone had just flicked a switch, the hurt was gone like it had never existed. "You're luckier than you think, Evan. She's pretty special,"

Evan knew exactly which 'she' the medic was talking about, and he wasn't happy. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Don't waste it. That's all I'm saying," there was a sudden pause as Ratchet's face took on an expression so terrified it was almost comical, transfixed on the double doors behind him. Evan took one look over his shoulder and wished he had the courage to do the same.

Ange rested one hand on her hip, leaning against the door frame, and raised her eyebrows, giving the pair a pointed look. "Good to see you, Doctor Holden. Don't you have something important to be doing? Preferably in some other part of the building?"

"Well, now that you mention it..." the medic's attempt at humour fell flat against Ange's withering stare. "I'll...just...go find some paperwork or something," he didn't bother to disguise his blatant relief at his easy escape, almost leaping towards the doors and full-on sprinting through them, barely stopping to throw Evan an apologetic glance.

They were alone. At this point in time, he wasn't sure whether that was a good or a bad thing, although going by Ange's suspiciously bright eyes and slightly ragged nails, he guessed it was probably a bad thing. "What do you want?"

"I need to talk to you," she sighed, wringing her hands together. She was definitely holding something back, Evan decided. She was refusing to meet his eyes, and appeared uncharacteristically nervous, even embarrassed, without any good reason as far as he could see.

"Now's not really a good time, Ange. Can't it wait?"

"It's about Dylan,"

Evan flinched at the sharpness of her words. Ange moved to stand in front of him, her hand brushing against his shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. "Sorry about that,"

He moved away from her, not wanting her that close to him. Sometimes it felt like she knew him _too _well; any closer and she would be staring straight into his thoughts. "Don't be. I'm not,"

One sceptical eyebrow raised, she took a few steps backwards, taking the not-so-subtle hints he was throwing her way. "Really? Or are you just saying that?"

She apparently took his frosty silence as an invitation to continue. "Trust me, I know what you think of me right now. I just...please, Evan. Give me five minutes, that's all I ask. Then I'll leave you alone, I promise, and you can go back to pretending I don't exist again,"

"That's not what I was trying to do!" he protested, although there was a certain ring of guilt to his tone. "I just thought it would be easier that way. Less messy, you know?"

"Oh, I know,"

With a sudden start, Evan realised he recognised those words, the very words that marked an anniversary of sorts for him. A rebirth of the day everything had started going wrong.

_It wasn't all bad._

No. Not this. He screwed his eyes shut, trying his hardest to block out the sound.

_Remember what happened afterwards? When Dylan promised she wasn't going to leave you?_

_"You're not in this alone,"_

_Look how you repaid her loyalty, Evan. With this._

_You killed her._

"No, I didn't," he muttered, aware of Ange's curious eyes on his face. "She's still alive, she'll be fine,"

_For now._

"Evan? Evan, are you okay?"

Even now, after all they'd been through, all the hurt they'd caused each other, the concern she was showing him was still as real as ever. That didn't mean he was ready to let her in, though. He couldn't let himself weaken, couldn't face having her betray him again. "Yeah. Fine. Sorry, what were you saying?"

"I wasn't trying to criticise that. I think we're better off staying apart too, but I wanted to ask you something first,"

Her voice petered out, and Evan gave a sigh. "Just get on with it, Ange,"

"Is there anything going on between you and Dylan?" she stopped, shaking her head, hair spilling forwards, and gave a short, humorless laugh. "It's not important. You and me...well, that's better off forgotten. We would never have...but anyway. I just wanted to know,"

His entire body seemed to freeze up as the words left her mouth. This topic, her questioning, was far too close to his heart for comfort. He kept his voice guarded as he responded quietly, carefully, not giving anything away. "What made you think that?"

"The way you looked at her," blinking fast, she began to rub at her eyes and ducked her head down. When she looked up again, mascara was smudged under them, and a single teardrop glistened amongst the shadows. "It reminded me of how you used to look at Brooke. Like you...like you love her,"

It wasn't a statement, it was a question. Her exact words may have been '_like you love her_, but what she really meant was '_do you love her?_'. It was a question he'd found himself half-expecting, but that didn't make it any less of a shock to his system, and it didn't make it any easier to answer.

"I-" he broke off, running his hands through his hair for the umpteenth time that day. "No. She's my employee, Ange. Maybe even my closest friend at the moment. It would be...innapropriate, for one. Plus, I honestly don't see her that way,"

"Evan," it was the anger he heard there that surprised him the most. What right did she have to be angry with him, after everything she'd done? "Evan, don't lie to me,"

"Look who's talking," he shot back bitterly, distantly realising he was shaking badly. "If you're jealous, don't be. There was never anything between you and me, and there's nothing between me and her either. Brooke's the only one I've ever loved, you know that!"

"No! That's not true and you know it. I might be a liar. I can accept that, but it doesn't mean I want you to go the same way. I was doing what I thought was best. It may not be a justification, but it's the best I can give. I was trying to help. Who are you going to help by denying what you feel? You're lying to yourself, and to me, and it's not giving you anything but more heartbreak. Brooke broke your heart once when she died. Don't let her do it again by keeping you and Dylan apart, Evan. Please,"

There was silence, his heart still racing from the directness of her confrontation, the ring of truth in her tirade cutting uncomfortably deep into thoughts he wasn't ready to acknowledge yet. "Yes," he said eventually, not sure if she could even hear him. "I do. I love her. Are you happy now?"

Ange nodded, a faraway mist settling over her eyes. Her darkly passionate anger was gone, now he saw only distance in her face. "Okay. That's...thank you. For being honest with me. It means more than you'd think," she ducked her head, then looked up again. "I have one more question,"

"Good for you. I don't have any answers, and the door's over there,"

She raised an eyebrow at his bluntness, but didn't question it, seemingly understanding that she'd already pushed it too far, too soon. Still, her next question was enough to send him reeling. "How do you think Brooke would feel?"

"Fuck you," instantly, his head snapped up, breath catching like fire in his throat. "Fuck you, Ange. That was uncalled for,"

"It was an honest question, not a guilt trip. I'm curious,"

He was preparing to blow her off again, storm away and pretend that this conversation - no, this whole torrential nightmare of a day - had never happened. He couldn't. Despite the heels and the power clothes, the hardness of her face and the lines he hadn't noticed on her forehead before, the sad smile and the smudges around her eyes gave her a vulnerability that wouldn't let him leave yet.

One fist clenched, he bit down on his lip. "I'd like to think she'd be happy for me,"

"But?" Ange prompted with surprising gentleness.

"I don't think she would be. I don't think any of us would be. If it were me, I'd want to be the only one she ever loved, and I'd want her to feel that way forever; it would hurt too much to see her move on and leave me behind. If she could see me now, I guess she'd be jealous of Dylan, angry with me for finding love again, but I try not to dwell on that too much. Dylan's here. Brooke's not. It's easier to think of it like that,"

"That seems fair enough. And Evan...I'm glad you're happy again. I hope things work out between you and Dylan after this," she turned away with a slight shrug. "I guess this is goodbye, for a while, at least,"

"Yeah, but I wouldn't-" the doors slammed together, the sound echoing through the room before he could finish his sentence, and he sank back against a nearby chair, knees giving way under him. _I wouldn't call this happy. It's closer to torture._

"Evan?"

Seconds, minutes, hours passed before he looked up to see Ratchet standing in front of him, sympathy written across his features. "You're taking this pretty badly, mate. Are you okay?"

"What does it look like?" he replied dully. Now that the pain had faded, he was left with nothing but a dull monotone numbness that he wished he could lift. Even his earlier convulsive shock would be better than this.

"I came in to tell you that we've finished the first lot of tests - I can't tell you anything yet, but you can go in to see her now if you want to," as he started to push himself up, the medic put one hand on his shoulder, stopping him from moving any further. "Hang on. Just a warning, but we've got her on some pretty strong painkillers, so she's pretty out of it at the moment. She might not even recognise you,"

"I don't care," was his instantaneous reaction, but under Ratchet's reproachful gaze he found himself unwillingly relenting. "Sorry. I just need to see her,"

"I know," Ratchet's touch dropped from his shoulder to his wrist, pulling him out of the seat. "Come on. Follow me,"

* * *

Dylan stirred and blinked sleepily as he entered the room, lifting her head slightly to look at him . A tousled lock of hair fell into her face as she moved, leaving him with a sudden urge to brush it away. "Evan? S'that you?"

"Hey," he smiled indulgently, his first properly genuine smile since the accident, and walked over to sit by her bed.

"Why're you here?" she mumbled drowsily, falling back against the pillow. Already he could see what Ratchet had meant when he'd said that she'd be pretty out of it; she was confused and disoriented, and her speech was slightly slurred in a way that Evan probably found far cuter than he should.

He reached out to touch the side of her face gently, almost a caress. "I wanted to see you, make sure you're alright,"

"Not really. Back still hurts. Feel awful,"

Chuckling, he shook his head. "At least you're complaining about it. That means you're getting better,"

"Go 'way,"

"Sorry," suddenly he realised that his palm was still resting against her cheek and snatched it away quickly. She didn't comment on it, but he could definitely see a faint blush beginning to stain her pale skin.

"Didn't mean it," she turned her head to look at him with wide, panicked eyes, enough to give his heart a physical, painful twinge. "Don't go, Evan!"

"It's okay," he whispered in return, taking her hand and rubbing his thumb back and forth over her knuckles, trying his best to comfort her. "I'll stay with you, Dylan. I'm not going anywhere,"

"Good,"

In the silence that followed, he saw her eyes drifting shut again.

"Dylan? Are you asleep?"

She mumbled a muffled "Yes," into her pillow. Evan just raised his eyebrows and tried to contain his smirk.

"Okay. Fair enough,"

Gradually, her breathing began to even out, and she shifted onto her side so he could just about see her face, shrouded in shadow. For a while he just sat there, transfixed by her serenity despite the small, worried line between her brows. It was only a knock at the door from Toby, just arrived and brimming with questions about the accident, that told him it was time to go.

He turned and glanced one last time at the figure in the bed, and stopped. Ignoring Toby's sudden grin, her eyes lighting up with the prospect of potential blackmail material, he bent over Dylan and tucked some of her hair behind her ears, leaning in to press an impulsive kiss to her lips before he could let his nerves get the better of him.

"I'll stay with you, Dylan. Whatever happens," he murmured, half to himself, as he straightened up and turned away. Electric tingles zipped through his spine as he began to realise exactly what it was he'd just done. He moved towards the doors, leaving her alone to sleep, and unexplained tears began to prick at his eyes. The space between Dylan's bed and the door was short, but it seemed to take an eternity to reach Toby; he was wading through thick silence laced with his own guilt, and against his skin, it felt like treacle.

* * *

**I'm back! Sorry for the time it's taken me to update, but I've recently been going through my stuff and I found a whole load of old fanfics I started writing and never finished, so I've been busy typing those up and working on them - they should be up soon, so on the plus side there's going to be (hopefully) quite a few new Primeval: New World fics from me across the next month or so. Plus, I've started working on an original novel, which is taking up a lot of my time, and I have a lot of other commitments. I promise you that I'm going to finish this story, and the sequel, but you might have to bear with me for a while. **

**Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the third chapter! I'm working on the fourth one at the moment, and it shouldn't take too long until it's up. Well, hopefully, anyway. Thanks as always to my beta-reader, - you're amazing!**


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